


I'm okay

by sonni_with_an_i



Series: Bound to the Ruins [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Crying, Cutting, Depression, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pain, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, graphic depictions of self harm, triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonni_with_an_i/pseuds/sonni_with_an_i
Summary: Mark heads to the grocery store, and you have time to yourself. You decide to try something you haven't done before to take away the pain.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/You
Series: Bound to the Ruins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039402
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	I'm okay

**Author's Note:**

> TW: graphic depictions of self harm and it gets quite emotional on both ends
> 
> National suicide prevention hotline: 800-273-8255

He had been gone for awhile now. Gone to the grocery store, leaving you with your thoughts. Alone, and not at all ok. You needed some necessities like milk, eggs, bread etc. You had been trying to clean up the kitchen from lunch when he offered to go. He even offered for you to go with him, to leave the mess til you both came back. You had insisted that the mess needed to be cleaned up, trying to work on being neater yourself. He didn’t argue, but you wished he had. You wished he had begged you to go with him but he obliged your request instead not knowing any better. He didn’t know, I mean not really. Not ever really how hard you struggled in your brain. Keeping the thoughts that no normal person would ever have at bay. Finding the will to survive every day; to go to work; to shower; to even get out of bed. He didn’t know and you never blamed him, but today you wished he knew. You wished he knew to not leave you alone, to keep you by his side, to stay as close to him as you could. 

You figured you had time. You calculated how long it would take to get to the store, about how long he would take and then the time to come home. He didn’t mean to but he even confirmed your guesses with a text. 

“All done! On my way back, love you” the text said.  
“Love u too” you responded. 

That’s all you needed. 15 minutes. 15 minutes to try to feel something. 

You ran to your work bag in the living room. You kept everything you would need for work in there; a change of clothes, an emergency snack, even a toothbrush for those long night shifts. You weren’t looking for any of those things right now. You had finally found what you were looking for in the outside pocket, tucked under some hard caramels - something sharp; your pocket knife. You grab it and rush through the bedroom to the bathroom you both shared. 

You stare in the mirror, looking at yourself. Wondering if you were actually going to do this. You didn’t want to live like this anymore, just wanting something to take the pain away. Something to draw you out of this. This. What could you call this? A depressive episode maybe, but you lived in one all of the time, so what made this any different from that? Maybe the difference was, you wanted something different this time. To feel the pain leave your body, maybe, or was it that you thought you deserved the pain that you had in your chest. The pain that tells you you don’t belong here anymore. 

You take one more look in the mirror and take a big sigh. You hadn’t done anything like this before. You had always been able to turn those thoughts away. This time you just couldn’t. You deserved everything and more you were about to do to yourself. No matter what anyone else told you. You grip the knife in your left hand, giving a hard squeeze to the stiff handle. You lay the cold blade across your right wrist to rest. You were finally going to know what this felt like after staying up for nights thinking about it.  
For as long as you could remember, your wrists were itchy, itchy for this sensation. You figure one thing, that they weren’t going to be itchy after tonight. You tilt the blade, about to make the cut. You take a deep breath in, making a long and smooth slice as you exhale. Your skin turned red before you saw the blood. Warm blood starts to ooze down your arm, dripping onto the counter. All you could do was watch. Watching the blood go drip, drip, drip onto the counter, making little spots on the counter. Then the pain starts. The pain you so desperately wanted. No. needed. The pain you felt, the pain that you deserved. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you saw streaks down your cheeks from tears you hadn’t noticed that you shed. You set down the knife that had been planted in your hand, the black metal now glossy with your blood. You take your left hand and wipe your face. 

You heard the door open to the apartment, echoing in the silent space. “Shit, he’s back” you thought. 

You could hear the bags rustling as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“Y/n they didn’t have whole milk, so I got low fat instead” Mark said. 

As you stood, frozen in the bathroom in terror, you could hear him open the fridge door to start putting groceries away. 

You didn’t know what to do, you hadn’t thought this far. Blood drops cover the counter, blood still dripping from the cut. Shit, shit, shit. You had to think of something. You put your left hand over the cut to try and staunch the bleeding, praying that Mark wasn’t going to come looking for you. You hope he would put the groceries away and sit on the couch to watch tv and not give another thought to you. 

The blood was now escaping your hand, seeping through your fingers; the cut deeper than you thought. You pray that the bleeding would stop soon, just so that he wouldn’t find out. With your spare pinky, you open the medicine cabinet that was behind the mirror continuing to hold pressure to your wrist with the rest of your hand. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you move some things around, within the cabinet. After a few seconds of searching, you found what you were looking for -tape. You walk over to the toilet where there was a roll of toilet paper on the back. You did your best to keep pressure on your cut and roll up some toilet paper. You wad the TP up and smush it into the cut, quickly soaking it red. You grabbed more and wad it up again into the wound. You figure that if you had a hand free, you could clean up the mess before Mark found you. Holding your wrist to the countertop in the bathroom, you tear off a piece tape, long enough to wrap around your wrist. You did this several times to staunch the bleeding. 

Holding your wrist to the counter top in the bathroom to continue to hold pressure, you tear off a piece of tape long enough to wrap the circumference of your wrist. You do this several times to try and stop the bleeding. Now with your hands free you could try to clean up the mess Mark could find out. You found some cleaning spray underneath the bathroom sink, stashed next to the toilet bowl cleaner. You spray down the sink counter top that had been rained on by droplets of blood; the cold tile floor that had two separate trails of blood lead from the sink to toilet and back again. You saturated those areas with cleaner. You took a second to look at your wrist; blood had seeped through some of the toilet paper, but it wasn’t drenched. Your makeshift bandage seemed to be doing the trick. You had sprayed the floor, now to find something to wipe it all up. You squat in front of the cupboards underneath the sink when you notice it. A small sound coming from the bedroom. You shake your head, trying to shove it out of your mind. You start to shift things in the cabinet looking for rag when you hear another noise coming from the bedroom. You decide that you needed to have a look in order to put your mind at ease that it was nothing. You slowly removed yourself from the squat; inching your way towards the door, heart racing from what you might see on the other side. You peer around the door, your stomach in knots. You see him; Mark, sitting on the edge of the bed; silent tears streaming down his face, eyes gazed at the wooden bedroom floor; his hands alternating between firmly rubbing his hands together and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as if to ground himself. 

You stay at your position for a second too long and the door creaks, his gaze shifts from the floor to your eyes. His eyes that are usually soft, brown and loving have turned to be filled with pain. 

“Y/n?” he asks softly, as if to not scare you, tears still leaking.  
You keep your hands hidden behind the door, and hang your head low “I have to finish cleaning up and then I’ll be out ok?” you reassure. 

You turn to face the inside of the bathroom, when you hear the bed shift and Mark pulls open the door with too much force, causing the door to bang against the wall. You look at him and he looks at you; looks at your right wrist, still covered with toilet paper and tape. He looks at your left hand, sticky and red, drying with blood. He makes a step into the bathroom, he looks at the counter where your pocket knife was laid, still glistening. He looks at the floor, in places pink, where blood and cleaner were mixed together. He runs a hand through his long black hair. He turned his gaze towards you again, “Y/n?” he asked again. You had nothing to say, nothing you wanted to say. Mark opens his arms and tries to envelope you in a hug. You put out your arms and push him away. “No” you whimper. He tucks his arms into his side, just watching you. “Why Y/n” he urged. You thought about it, the why. The pain, the guilt. As you were thinking, you could feel the tears start to stream down your face, your breaths hitching in your throat. Mark still watching, unsure of what to do. 

You could feel his stare as he watched you helplessly. Pressure pounding in your chest, the wetness on your cheeks, the burn of your wrist all too much. Your body made its way to the floor, without your instruction. You curl your knees to your chest, wanting to disappear. Mark got down on the floor with you; curled up behind you, almost up against you. You still couldn’t speak. Gently he places his hand on your back, you wince at the touch. His hand starts to rub your back, softly at first, eventually getting firmer and firmer. Your sobs intensify and every other breath is a hiccup. You still sense Mark behind you, firmly putting pressure into your back. Ever so slowly do the tears slow and the hiccuping begins to fade. Breathing becomes easier and you lean into Mark, your legs fall from the curled position and your head on his chest. He moves his hand from your back to the top of your arm still rubbing in circular motions, just not as firmly, his other arm is holding you tight. 

You turn your body to face him, trying to look up at him, you can see streaks from tears that have dried, you can see pain in his soft eyes. He notices that you have shifted and are looking up at him, a very small inkling of a smile starts at the corner of his mouth, he removes one of his hands, and wipes his face with the palm of his hand. After wiping his face he drags it across his shirt to dry it off. 

“Hey” he whispers, as he attempts to wipe your tears from your face, holding your jaw, and drags his thumb across your cheekbone. 

Holding back his tears, he asks “what happened” his voice soothing you. 

You look down, his hand still holding your jaw, but not forcing you to look at him. 

“I-I got desperate this time” you stutter. Mark doesn’t say anything. Tears started to build back up. 

“It’s ok,” he reassures. “Please just talk to me, I don’t like to see you hurting this way. Hurting so much that the only way you can feel better is to hurt yourself”

You silently nod, thinking about how he must hate you for doing this, trying to not let more tears fall. 

You sniffle “Mark- I don’t know how to explain it, -I”

“hey, Hey” he starts, you let your face fall harder into Mark’s grasp. He gently pulls your face up, so you can look at him. He looks at you, in your eyes “Y/n, look at me, please” he begs. 

“Y/n I love you, and I won’t know how to help if you don’t tell me. I want to help you, y/n” he places a small kiss on your forehead, while his thumb wipes the tears you continue to shed. 

You take a breath in and exhale. 

"How long were you out there?" you question, trying to gauge the severity of the situation. 

"It doesn't matter Y/n" he responds flatly. 

"It matters to me, Mark" you beg. 

He sighs, "I came back from the grocery store and started to put things away. I noticed you hadn't responded when I yelled to you that I couldn't find the right milk. I came into the bedroom looking for you, when I noticed the bathroom light on. I peeked in, your back was towards the door so you didn't see me and I saw you tearing off toilet paper and you put it to your wrist. I should've said something right then I-'' he couldn't hold back his tears anymore. 

He hangs his head low, letting go of you "I froze. I straight up froze. I'm-m supposed to protect you and I couldn't. I just froze.” tears stream down his face. 

You removed your right hand from your lap, your wrist sore and yelling at you to not let it move. You moved your hand up to his jaw and held his head; using your thumb to wipe some tears, like he had done before. 

"Mark," you whisper. You tucked a piece of his black hair that had landed on his forehead, behind his ear with your left hand, caressing his head and bringing his face towards you. 

"There was nothing you could have done to protect me from doing this" you whisper. His tears started to slow while yours picked up again. 

"I -uh- get sad a lot" you stumble, trying to explain your darkest feelings to him. "Like the I can't feel anything kind of sad. I can't feel happy or sad or angry or frustrated. It's just nothing"  
Mark is looking at you, focused,just listening. 

"I just needed to feel something, anything. I didn't care what that was and I still don't. I feel like I deserve to be miserable. I feel like I'm not good enough for you; for me; for anybody or anything. I never wanted you to find out, I never wanted you to worry; I-I never wanted to be a burden on you. I mean I live at your apartment and I contribute where I can but I don't feel like it's enough. I don't feel like I am enough." 

You sit there, waiting for him to say something, anything. You waited for him to be angry; but it never came. 

"Okay," he says. He gives you another kiss on the forehead. You close your eyes waiting for the other shoe to drop. It doesn't. 

He shifts his body, breaking the connection between you and him and gets onto his knees. "Let's get you cleaned up and clean up your wrist" he suggests. You let him help you up onto your feet. Once you're up. You press into his chest, never wanting to let go. He puts his arms around you. 

"Y/n" he says. "Can we have a safeword or phrase for the next time? So I know when you need help. I don't want you suffering alone, I want to help next time, please". 

You mutter into his chest, "I'm ok,"

"I'm ok?" he repeats back.

You look up at him in his embrace; "It's something I would say to my friend back home, when I wasn't doing great, she knew that something was up. My brain is weird and has a system" you manage a weak chuckle. "So if I say I'm ok, I'm not doing ok, but I can't just say that I'm not ok." you explain. 

He chuckles at your train of thought, "Okay, I got it."


End file.
